


So Crowned

by Howland



Series: Crown Jewels [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cultural Differences, Engagement, Fix-It, Illustrated, Interlude, Jewelry, Jewels, Lots of pretty Pictures, M/M, POV: Thorin, Pictures, Schmoop, Sparklies, crowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howland/pseuds/Howland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Bilbo's said it once he's said it a thousand times before.  He doesn't even <i>like</i> jewels.  </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Thorin, Bilbo, and choosing a Consort's crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Crowned

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!

“Thorin.”

Bilbo’s tone is absolutely flat and Thorin smirks as he pats the hand which his intended has tucked in to the crook of his arm.

In the months of adjustment between their betrothal and the distant promise of their wedding, they’ve found a preference for walking in this way. It feels better than holding hands, both physically due to their height difference and emotionally because they are “-not mooning tweens, for Yavanna’s sake” as Bilbo put it. It’s neither as formal nor as grating as Bilbo’s hand placed a top Thorin’s own, being guided around like a showpiece, and it’s more intimate that simply walking side by side.

Thorin mostly grunted when Bilbo discussed these differences, but in the privacy of his mind he delights in being able to keep Bilbo so close. It allows him moments like this, the Hobbit’s smaller fingers always within reach so he can squeeze them companionably.

“Are you displeased, my Hobbit?” He asks lowly, trying to adopt a serious lilt, but mostly falling in to a tone of amusement and pride.

“This is ridiculous, Thorin.” Bilbo elaborates. His hand is lax in shock where it’s tucked against the King, his eyes expressively wide despite the lack of inflection in his voice, his gaze tracking over the raucous display of jewel-craft before them. The Hobbit’s golden hair and fair skin are bathed in a riotous play of reflected light, rainbow hues flickering in the lamplight all around them. It’s like being submerged in a sea of stars-

It is neither uncommon nor ignoble for a monarch to ask for a selection of the crown jewels to be assembled so they can select a piece for an event. Indeed, Thorin has very fond memories of the earliest days of his childhood, before madness so gripped his line, when his grandfather and father would sit him and his siblings down and allow them to choose a circlet or coronet for an upcoming court ceremony.

Although he knows Bilbo is not nearly so swayed by jewels and gemstones as the average dwarf, he has still anticipated this day with a particular joy.

It is his pleasure to see his intended so cloaked and crowned as is his right.

Simply knowing that Bilbo will refuse to be seen in public in some of the more elaborate crowns and tiaras in no way means that Thorin cannot ask him to try them on here. In private.

The guards have left them, Dwalin giving him a particularly intense eye roll when he’d escorted the royal couple into the room and seen just which pieces Thorin had asked be brought up for the consort-to-be.

“Good luck.” The mohawked warrior had grunted before closing the door behind him, but Bilbo hadn’t even responded, mouth gaping like a fish as he eyed the tableau.

The most remarkable thing about this is that this isn’t even a fraction of the jewels Thorin can recall from his youth.

Much was destroyed and lost to the dragon, and though Gloin and Dori had done a fair job directing the project of cataloguing every recovered circlet, bead, and earring, many of Erebor’s greatest gold works were forever mangled and melted. Many more had been sold and portioned so they could buy, barter, and beg for the food and supplies the mountain kingdom had so desperately needed these past months

For all the legendary greed of dwarrow, Thorin’s swift descent in to gold sickness had proved a harrowing reminder to all members of the company, and they had been more than generous with their reclaimed wealth.

Thorin did not regret a single coin spent. Not even the collection of prize four-ray star rubies he had had to hand over to Thranduil sat ill in his soul. Indeed he was _proud_ that he and his men had proven that dwarrow were a race of reason, even when bathed in the light of a billion gold coins.

“Thorin, there must be some mistake. I can’t wear _any_ of these.”

Bilbo’s small voice brings Thorin back to the present and his brow furrows at how timid the bold creature at his side is being.

“Yes you can.” He argues simply. “I have already had Gloin and Ranor size all of them to your measurements. They should all sit well, and it will be no trouble to adjust them in the event that-”

“No,” Bilbo yelped, squeezing Thorin’s forearm and finally turning his face up to the Kings.

His eyes are huge in his round face, a light flush to his cheeks and ears and Thorin feels breathless.

“I can’t _wear these,_ Thorin. I can’t accept them. This is far, far too much for a simple Hobbit. Gracious.” He gasps the last exclamation and tightens his fingers on Thorin’s arm even further as if he might swoon.

Thorin wraps his hand around the Hobbit’s fingers supportively. “They are already yours, Bilbo.”

The words were meant to be reassuring but if anything the seem to make the small creature more likely to faint. The flush to his skin turns pale and Thorin frowns, wondering if he should extract his arm so he can better catch the Hobbit if he falls.

“No,” Bilbo chokes out “I simply cannot, Thorin, these are _extravagant_ -”

Despite his concern the King can’t help but chuckle. He uses his bulk to tow the pair of them forward a few steps, approaching the table clothed in blue velvet, a top which nearly three dozen crowns and tiaras are displayed. “These are the crowns of the king’s consort, Bilbo, they are yours regardless of how extravagant they are. You do not have to wear most them if you so choose, but they are yours.”

“I am not a queen, Thorin. These are not meant for me.”

A grumble escapes Thorin’s throat before he can help it. They’ve danced around this argument before, and it has always set Thorin to bristling. “Yes, you are My One. I am a King. You are my consort, as long as you’ll have me. This is your right now.”

For a moment Bilbo looks cross, but it’s smoothed away after a second with a drawn out sigh. “Oh Yavanna,” He murmurs, “I am going to be so very, very bad at this.”

Thorin tries to be reassuring.“You will do fine. We will find something that suits you.”

“It’s more than that you- oh, oh alright. There must be something subtle in here.”

Front and center of the arrangement is the Dawn Tiara, a piece made in 2603 by the Great Royal Jeweler Fráin for Her Royal Highness Baer, wife and Consort to Thror.

It is a stunning assemblage of more than 500 diamonds set in platinum with a central twelve-point star sapphire cabochon. The diamonds are arranged in overlapping rays which spread radially around the focal stone, capturing the idea of the sun’s rising progression on a winter morning, or so Thorin has always been told

Thorin is reverent as he approaches the piece, Bilbo still obediently creeping beside him, tucked very close to the King’s side, arms folded tight to his body as if afraid of what he might bump into.

It had been no small miracle to recover this piece from Smaug’s hoard. The crown fortunately had been kept with care in a bronze box specially made for it, and it had proven sturdy enough to endure the tender affections of a dragon.

Now it has been polished until it shines just as brightly as it did on the day it first sat on Baer’s brow.

When Thorin reaches out and lifts up the piece Bilbo makes a frantic sound of distress next to him.

“You must be joking.” The Hobbit squeaks and Thorin laughs, turning to face Bilbo, dislodging the poor creature’s hand in the process, leaving him to wring his hands on his own, eyeing the crown like he expects it might do something particularly nasty at any moment.

Thorin smiles. “I assure you I am completely serious. This is a treasure to my people. Our people, Bilbo. It was made for my Grandmother, and you now will be steward to it.”

“Put it back in a box.” Bilbo declares immediately, leaning his head back as Thorin makes a gesture like he wishes to place it on the Hobbit’s brow. “If I am to be steward to to to _that_ I want it put back in a box where it will be _safe_ from the awkward graces of a head like mine.”

Thorin’s smile falters, and his hands lower with the crown, his eyes gazing on the sparkling mass of diamonds forelornly. “You will not wear it even once? Even here, where no one else can see?”

He has learned in these months that Bilbo is not half as good at reading his mind as Thorin had always imagined he might be, and he is getting better at using words to put his thoughts into order. The Hobbit has told him on several occasions that he appreciates the effort, but now he just stares at his husband-to-be, baffled.

“What is the point of wearing it now?” He asks, voice a bit shrill. “I shall never wear it in public, I would look a right fool in front of all of Erebor, and Dale, and possibly Mirkwood considering how often their dignitaries find themselves at court. If I wear it now, even in private, I will still look a fool, and I will have no one to blame for my ridiculous get-up except for myself and you for putting me into this situation.”

As Bilbo’s words dry up Thorin’s hands have turned the crown until it’s facing up, hundreds of diamonds casting little speckles of light over the long lines of his face.

There is a small pain in his chest. Small, but needling and sharp and he shuts his eyes a moment to compose himself before he nods and sighs and moves to replace the crown on the velvet display.

Before he can set it down though Bilbo speaks again. Quieter. More restrained.

“Wait, Thorin. Just- wait a moment.”

The dwarf king turns with the crown still cradled in his hands, facing his Hobbit with sad eyes and a determined set to his shoulders.

“Stop that.” Bilbo scolds. He unclasps his hands from across the front of his burgundy jacket and drops them to his sides, flapping them nervously a few times against his pants as he seems to dwell on what to say. “This is important to you?” He asks after a moment and the King nods.

In more ways than Bilbo can know.

“This is a _treasure_ , Bilbo. It is... It is like a work of art.”

Bilbo winces. “Of course, it’s beautiful. I just... I just...” For a moment Bilbo flounders before he steps a bit closer to Thorin with a sigh. “I just don’t feel the need to be draped in jewels, Thorin. It feels excessive and ridiculous and, and I do not like it. I’ll feel as foolish with that on my head as I did with that dratted, too-large helm the men of Lake Town gave to me. Don’t you see?”

“I understand, my Hobbit.” Thorin murmurs, and he does, he truly does. “I will not make you wear it.”

“Oh but you’re doing it again aren’t you? That thing where you suffer nobly in silence and curse us both but I can’t let you get away with that now can I, hmm?” As Bilbo’s tone becomes determined Thorin loses track of his footing in the conversation, furrowing his brow in confusion at the small creature. “Oh sod it all,” Bilbo says eventually. “Just... do not dare laugh at me, Thorin, or treat me like some child playing pretend in their parents clothing.”

For a moment Thorin blinks and processes what the Hobbit is saying, then he bows his head solemnly as it dawns on him that he has permission to see his Hobbit crowned. “Thank you, Bilbo.” He murmurs, and without further hesitation, he sets the crown atop his Consort’s head.

In a word, it is radiant. Bilbo looks glorious. Like a forest god, like a fairy, like a legend of old.

Sapphires are emblems of clear-thought, and strength of mind, and it swells Thorin’s heart to see his consort so crowned.

Bilbo is right, of course. It is too much for him, and Thorin smiles a little, bittersweet. He looks too magnificent, too glorious, and the court will not understand. The King leans down and presses his bare forehead to Bilbo’s decorated one and sighs.

“You are more beautiful than I have words to describe, my Hobbit, but you are right. It is too much of an adornment, people will look to _it_ and not to _you_ as they should.”

Bilbo flushes and his eyes fall away in embarrassment. “No one need look at me-” he mumbles, but Thorin shakes his head and huffs at him.

“They should, and they will. Come, let us try another one.” With those words the Dawn Tiara is lifted from Bilbo’s brow, and the Hobbit breathes a sigh of relief.

Not that he has much of a reprieve.

With the dam now broken a steady stream of crowns make their way onto Bilbos head.

First it is the Field Diadem, a very ancient piece, descended from a branch of some Nobel line which had stronger ties to the world outside the mountain than the average dwarf. The overlapping gold stalks of wheat and grass are inlayed with emeralds and diamonds. It is a crown of love, passion, fertility, strength, and Thorin had hoped that it may speak to the earth-loving soul in Bilbo.

Once again though it overwhelms the small Hobbit, and Bilbo simply raises an eyebrow in silence until Thorin capitulates and

removes the large diadem from his tresses.

There is a sapphire tiara - three, egg-sized, blue stones wrapped in diamond vines - but again it is too much. So is the Diamond tiara which had belonged to his own mother, three tiers of square and pear cut diamonds reaching up from Bilbo’s tresses like a halo.

Reluctantly Thorin gives up on the large crowns, choosing to be satisfied that at least Bilbo has allowed him to see what they look like on his head as opposed to rejecting them entirely.

“May we try this one?” Thorin asks quietly, not disheartened yet, and refusing to let  
disappointment over the larger settings ruin the event.

So far Bilbo has been reluctant to touch any of the pieces, but this new choice seems to intimidate the Hobbit less. It’s scale is far less overwhelming, and he reaches up carefully at Thorin’s urging to take a hold of the coronet.

“Pearls?” Bilbo asks cautiously and Thorin nods.

“They are not commonly used in Dwarven settings, but I believe these were gifted as loose stones by one of the Sea Masters of yore. The King was much taken with them and had his jeweler create a setting for them for... a nephew, I think. I have forgotten some of the details.”

Nodding along Bilbo turns the circlet carefully in his hands. “Do they have meanings? Like diamonds?”

“All stones have meaning.” Thorin acknowledges, lowly. “When pearls are used they signal innocence, clean conscience, and an affinity for water.”

At the latter Bilbo snorts and gamely lifts the piece onto his head, letting Thorin admire him for a moment before he plucks it off again and passes it back to the King. “It would be a terrible idea to advertise to anyone that I have ‘an affinity for water,’ Mr. Oakenshield.”

Thorin can’t help but laugh quietly in agreement, although he is somewhat put out as the crown had looked particularly lovely. The fat pearls, suspended between tiers of diamonds patterned in upturned crescent moons, sit well on Bilbo’s head.

“I understand.” He presses on, and takes Bilbo’s arm after the crown has been returned to its spot on the table, pulling him along with him to the other end of the display.

They move on to a pair of aquamarine pieces, both of which warrant a thorough perusal from Bilbo, his fingers lovingly brushing over the pale blue stones. In the end though they too are replaced and Thorin can only make a note in his mind to keep these pieces in a more easily accessible part of   the treasury for Bilbo to return to for a later event.

A setting of large, overlapping Mithril cirlces studded with diamonds also causes Bilbo to pause, but he does not wear it long. When Thorin prompts him he simply shakes his head and reaches out to touch Thorin’s arm affectionately. “I like the circles, but it’s still too big for me.”

“This one, then?” The King moves on to an amethyst and gold tiara, setting the piece in Bilbo’s hand and the Hobbit can’t help but smile a bit.

“It is _very_ pretty.” He acknowledges. Instead of the solidly cast circles of the mithril crown, this one has loops of fine gold wire which clutch at small amethysts and diamonds, encircling large purple stones. “To whom did it originally belong?” He asks, genuinely curious as he turns the crown over in his hand.

Here Thorin can’t help but slump his shoulders and sigh. “My great, great grandmother. It was a mourning crown, she wore it to her husband’s funeral.”

The crown is shoved back into Thorin’s hands so quickly it’s only his well honed reflexes that keeps it from ending up crashing to the floor.

“Good gracious Thorin!” Bilbo yelps. “I can’t wear something like that to our _wedding_!”

“I know!” Thorin counters, carefully placing the the crown back on the table. “I understand, I simply thought you might like it.”

Something cross filters into Bilbo’s eyes and the King swallows as the Hobbit leans towards him. “Listen, Thorin. We’ve had enough problems already in our rather brief acquaintance regarding omitted information and conveniently forgotten facts. You can’t side step things like this, it will only cause greater problems for us in the end.”

“I am well aware.” Thorin snaps back, feeling a bit testy. He is trying, certainly. If Bilbo is going to be so difficult about jewels though he should understand that Thorin is simply trying to make it easier for him. No _dwarf_ would have this problem-

Something sour builds up in Thorin’s throat and he swallows, regret immediately building in wake of his train of thought.

He does not feel this way. He does not.

I’s just that sometimes he wishes the things he has always taken for granted as a child were just a bit _easier_ now.

“I understand.” He says, somewhat brusquely after a moment, breathing deep to steady himself.

These past months have done nothing if not teach him the importance of a steady temper. Endless negotiations with elves and men and even his fellow Dwarven kingdoms have worn his nerves down until they are raw and brittle and several times he and Bilbo have wound up in a sniping match as he seeks to settle his frustration and dissatisfaction.

Each and every argument has fallen against his favor as well, and he has had to make more than one pitiful apology to his intended after the dust has settled and it’s been made clear to him just how far in the wrong he was.

Now will not be one of those times. Now is a happy occasion.

Bilbo is not a dwarf. He never will be. This is a good thing.

Thorin shuts his eyes for a moment and takes another steadying breath, before he reaches out and gently cups the back of Bilbo’s head, bringing their foreheads together in a silent request for peace.

Across from him Bilbo sighs and relaxes, leaning into the touch silently.

“I had this crown displayed because amethysts are stones of grief, but also of healing and remembrance. It would be considered wholly appropriate to wear them at a wedding so closely following a battle.”

When he pulls back he sees that Bilbo’s mouth has opened in a small ‘o’ of understanding, anger washed from his face.

“That is why you wore amethysts at your coronation?” He asks quietly and Thorin nods.

“Some may remember that it was once worn in mourning, but it could just as easily be worn in celebration.”

Bilbo shakes his head and sighs, patting Thorin’s arm. “I understand now but I will not wear it Thorin.”

With a sigh of his own the King squeezes Bilbo’s hand and turns back to the crowns. “We will find something.” He says, with determination, and misses the uncertain tilt to Bilbo’s eyebrows as he let’s his husband-to-be select his next option.

It is then that Thorin sees it, set near the back of the tableau. It’s never been a popular piece with the royal family, and Thorin can even vaguely recall an argument between his father and his mother over whether or not the stones should simply be pulled and reset.

His mother had been firmly on the side of keeping the piece as it was. For a moment Thorin spares her thanks as he reaches for the bandeau, hoping that perhaps this one might be it at last.

When Bilbo realizes what piece Thorin is reaching for his eyes grow wide, but he does not protest.

In years gone by things were not quite as bad between Dwarves and Elves as they are now. It’s said that this bandeau is from that past, a collaboration designed by an Elven artist and executed by Dwarven jewelers. It is not often that Mahal’s people look to plants to inspire their designs, but in this rare and unique piece a pair of artisans showed what a Dwarf can do with the right motivation.

The bandeau is composed of three articulated oak leaves, each set with a sapphire cabochon the size of Thorin’s thumb. Outlined and veined in diamonds, each leaf sparkles welcomingly as Thorin raises it up in his hands and turns to Bilbo, settling the crown amongst the silent Hobbit’s curls.

When he pulls his hands back from arranging a few strands of hair off of Bilbo’s brow, his eyes soften and his heart quiets in contentment.

It takes a while for Bilbo to speak, his hands coming up ever so cautiously to pat at the crown now resting on his head, tracing the outlines of each lovingly wrought leaf, barely brushing the surface of each large, smooth sapphire.

“ _Bilbo_ -” The King encourages, because this must be it. This must be the one.

Blinking quickly the Hobbit spins on his heel, looking around somewhat desperately for something. When he spots the mirror which has been hung on the wall he trots over to it quickly, one hand still on top of his head as if he’s worried the crown might fall off. Thorin plods obediently after, wondering if this is a good or a bad sign.

When he pulls up behind Bilbo and catches a look of his face in the mirror his heart eases because this is good.

Bilbo is staring at his own reflection like he can’t quite believe it.

“I do not even _like_ jewels, Thorin-” He murmurs, sounding desperate to believe it and Thorin can’t help it, he laughs.

“Even the greediest of dwarf is not wooed by all gems, and even a hobbit is allowed to find a piece that moves them.”

Bilbo quietly absorbs these words, tilting his head minutely from side to side as he watches the light move along the smooth curves of the cabochons, watching the way the diamonds glitter.

“It is very pretty, Thorin.” He says, very quietly.

Thorin rumbles happily and steps close to Bilbo’s back, wrapping his arms around his Hobbit, eying the way he is now dressed in a plain burgundy coat and brown pants, but decorated in _diamonds_ -

“Just this one.” Bilbo says after an extra long moment of contemplation. “I’d as soon give the rest away as gifts, but I’ll keep this one, if I have to keep one.”

Thorin shrugs and counts it as a victory.

They have already agreed that there shall be flowers decorating the halls for the wedding, and Bilbo has even talked him into weaving blossoms into his braids. It will be fair trade to see his Hobbit crowned in oak leaves that _glitter_.

The King smiles and nuzzles the top of his scalp.

“Fair enough.” He says aloud, and he kisses the top of his Hobbit’s head.

In his arms a pale Bilbo smiles genuinely and leans back into his Dwarf’s warmth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these stories I have outlined revolve around rings. That said every Consort needs a crown so I figured before we got to the wedding I needed a bit where they argued over precisely which crown is to be worn. 
> 
> I have a head cannon where dwarves have some sort of tradition when it comes to crowning of consorts where an inherited crown must be used, and not a newly commissiond one. While kings have one crown which passes from reigning monarch to reigning monarch, consorts _choose_ a crown from the treasury and that's the crown which becomes 'their' crown so to speak. Furthermore once a consort's crown has been chosen, no subsequent consort gets to choose it as 'their' crown, although they could wear it to an event if they so chose. So all these crowns assembled for Bilbo to pick from are part of the consort's jewels, but none of these particular crowns were ever chosen as a consort's signature crown before. 
> 
> I dunno, I've been thinking about crowns a lot. 
> 
> Also there might be one piece later on about Bilbo wearing one of these 'signature' crowns to an event and not really getting why people are making such a big deal about it, but there will be more ring stories first. 
> 
> And I still haven't seen BotFA. Soon.
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO Credits for the pretties:  
> 1\. Cartier Sun Tiara. It now has a yellow center stone, although the sapphire is its original setting. I believe it belongs to the English Monarchy.  
> 2\. Russian Field Diadem. Was part of Imperial Russia's crown jewels. I'm not quite sure where it is now.  
> 3\. Ceylon Sapphire Tiara, Bolin (?). Russian. Exact details of who made this crown and who it belonged to are unclear to me. Most of the websites associated with it are in Russian and alas I do not speak that language. I think it was also Maria Fedorovna's or Alexandra Fedorovna's.  
> 4\. Diamond Tiara, Van Cleef and Arpels. Made for Princess Fawzia of Egypt around 1939.  
> 5\. Pearl and Diamond Russian Tiara, Bolin. This was a favourite diadem of Empress Maria Fedorovna, sold in the 1920's by the Soviet Government. May currently belong to the former first lady of the Phillippines.  
> 6\. Antique Diamond Tiara. Possibly by Cartier (?), sold by Christies some time ago. It originally had a bunch of emeralds set in it, but they've been pulled. Christies lists that it was sold for some 93,000 USD, and was previously owned by 'a gentleman.'  
> 7\. Amethyst Tiara. It's also (probably) Russian and also (probably) once the property of Empress Maria Fedorovna.  
> 8\. Oak Leaf Bandeau. German. Belonged to Princess Margarete of the Thurn und Taxis family in the 1930's. Sold recently by Sotheby's for 323,000 USD.


End file.
